


Do-Over

by runbravelybackward (victorienne)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Age Difference, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorienne/pseuds/runbravelybackward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Permanently dropped</b>
</p><p>Dave Strider is a regular at John Crocker's coffee shop. But not only is the slam poetry Dave recites there terrible--John's coffee is awful, too. But when John finally decides to approach Dave, they each start down better paths--and grow closer than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do-Over

**Author's Note:**

> When Rose called Dave's shitty raps slam poetry... this happened. Part 2 will contain some nsfw stuff.

Your name is John Crocker, and you're in the midst of putting a huge dollop of whipped cream on a mocha latte when you hear that one poet who keeps coming back to your coffee house start another of his pieces. Dave... Sanders? Summer? Well, it doesn't matter because he's still a terrible poet. He used to be all right, when he first started coming. You were pretty sure he was just a young guy, still getting the hang of his art. You figured he would keep improving. But now he's just a young guy who's worse at poetry than anyone you've ever known. And that's saying something.

But aside from his awful attempts at art, he seems like a good kid. You don't know him as well as your other regulars since he has an aura of wanting to be left alone. And as much as you like to have a nice chat with your customers, you know when people want to be left to their own devices, and you can respect that. But you admit that you've pranked him probably more than his fair share of times. You know it's ridiculous, but you really feel like you know him somehow. But you figure it's plain to anyone that he's more than just his bad poetry. Though he's a bit tightly wound, he takes your jokes in stride--that's it, Dave Strider--and you sometimes even get a hint of a smile out of him. Dave's probably right around your son's age, but he's very different from your son and his friends. There's a hint of melancholy about him, and though it's aged him, it suits. Maybe someone a bit different would have been good for your son.

Though somehow, you want to keep him to yourself. Bad poetry and all. But you don't even know him, aside from that he likes his coffee black, then adds barely enough sugar to taste. So you make it a point to talk to him today. He usually stays longer than the other customers--especially after some leave during his performances.

So after most of your customers are gone, you pull up a chair to Dave's table. Despite seeming lost in thought, scribbling something down on a pad of paper, he looks up immediately. Despite his ever-present shades, you can tell that he's looking at you, and you smile at him. He never accepts company at his table, but he allows you to pull up a chair without a word--as you had a feeling he would.

"Hey, Dave."

"Hey."

You tilt your head to see if you can read the chicken-scratch he's writing in red ink. "What are you writing?"

"Just some more rhymes. I feel like my material is pretty fucking stale, you know?"

You shrug. "No one can be on their game all the time."

"You know you're losing customers by letting me perform my shitty rhymes here, right?"

"I probably didn't want those assholes around anyway."

Dave gives you a small laugh, and you grin widely in response. You admit that he intimidated you with his relative silence all this time, but now you wonder how it took you so long.

"If you know you're bad at poetry, why keep doing it? Maybe there's something else you don't suck at?"

He shrugs noncommittally.

"Well, what do you like doing?"

He pauses for a moment before turning his pad of paper toward you.

It looks like he's been sketching out panels of a comic this whole time. It's pretty stupid, but surprisingly funny--though you're certain you aren't getting all the subtle references to modern culture and current events.

"It probably doesn't mean much from somebody old enough to be your dad, but this seems really great, Dave!"

"Thanks, dude. I wish I could just draw shitty comics my whole life and just have people throw money at me, but that's not going to happen."

"Isn't that what the internet's for?"

He laughs, more sincerely this time. You feel like you've been missing that laugh your whole life and never even knew it. "I guess I can try it. Thanks, Crocker." Somehow, your name sounds wrong when he says it--like it's someone else's and not yours. "But if I do this, you have to promise me something, too."

You raise your eyebrows. "What?"

"Your coffee is crap, bro. Try something you don't suck at."

You're rather taken aback by how blunt he is, but you know he's right. "I guess cooking has never really been my thing anyway. But I can't really prank for a living!"

"You can see if any clubs are looking for a comedian. You can keep this place in case that plan tanks."

"That's a good idea! So what do you say, Dave? Should we give this a shot?"

"We're doing it, man. We're making this happen."


End file.
